The Ride From Mandos
by Juliediane
Summary: A strange elf approaches Lórien. Written by Julie's friend, Redelfqueen, posted here by request.


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Author: RedElfQueen  
  
Beta: Julie  
  
Disclaimer: The characters, settings, places, and languages used in these works are the property of J R R Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and Tolkien Enterprises. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Summary: A strange elf approaches Lórien.  
  
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Note from Julie: This story is NOT written by Julie, but by Redelfqueen, who for personal reasons wanted me to post it for her on my FF.net account. So here it is. This is a stunning and haunting story you will long remember, and I recommend it highly. Also, please note that some of us have started using the word "elleth" to indicate a female elf.  
  
Feel free to review; all reviews will be forwarded to my friend, Redelfqueen. Thank you!  
  
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THE RIDE FROM MANDOS  
  
Quickly and with accuracy, Orophin put an arrow into his target and drew another from his quiver. He nocked it, raised its tip towards the second target, and the arrow flew swift and true. The running Uruk-hai fell with a thundering yell, not far from the one the warrior elf had hit seconds before.  
  
"Orophin," his brother, Rúmil, whispered from behind, drawing his attention to the knot of dark Orcs huddled in the shadow of the rising crag of the forest. They seemed caught between the sunlight before them and the forest behind them and looked disoriented, as if their very will to fight had been killed with the dead Uruk-hais.  
  
At a signal from the March Warden, a swift rain of shimmering arrows shrieked past Orophin, his blond hair fluttering in the draft stirred by the silvery missiles. They fell on the monstrous group, each finding its target. The knot of Orcs collapsed dead in a heap.  
  
The soft, rising warmth of the grass and earth carried the stench of dead Orc to their noses. Rúmil covered his mouth in disgust. None of them would go near the foul mound of Orc flesh, corrupt and rotting even before it had been dead. It would be the mortals who would burn them, and plunder the dead Orc of their blades and arrows. It was a grim task, distasteful even for the mortals. In return, the village had the protection of the elves.  
  
And, there they already were, scurrying out of the forest in their brown woolen wraps and furs, men, women and children, scavenging among the hideous carcasses for axes, bits of metal and leather.  
  
The elves turned away with a contemptuous shudder.  
  
"I do wonder why," Rúmil remarked, "the Valar created a species just to clean the Orcs."  
  
"You are unjust and unkind, Rúmil," Orophin admonished his younger brother.  
  
"So, send me to my tree!" Rúmil strummed the string of his bow in a mocking hum.  
  
"We have seen mortals, who were as fair as us, and no different were it not for the Gift of Death."  
  
Rúmil rolled his eyes and started to answer his elder brother when the March Warden's soft warbled whistle stopped him. The March Warden came alongside Orophin and snapped an order, with a sly smile in Orophin's direction: "Rúmil, go to your tree!"  
  
Rúmil made a popping sound with his breath and turned away, the braid on the back of his head flying defiantly in the air.  
  
Orophin smiled knowingly at the March Warden, but, the smile was not returned. Haldir was looking at the far horizon, a ray of sun making his eyes look like deeply blue sapphire crystal.  
  
"I think that's what brought them here."  
  
At his older brother's whispered words, Orophin looked far in the distance, beyond the sight of ordinary creatures. And he saw what Haldir had been tracking with his March Warden senses and sight. Orophin held his breath, as if afraid to disturb the vision.  
  
The elleth was riding a gray horse, her silver mantle falling about her shoulders, shrouding the horse, almost reaching to the ground. Her hand held the reins of beaten silver, and her head was bent, her face concealed by the shadow of her veils. Behind her fanned a line of dark- haired elves on black horses, their mantles a deep red, their swords and silvery quivers glinting in the sun. They rode swiftly, moving like shadows across the land.  
  
The three brothers and the company of Galadhrim warrior elves stood silent and invisible among the golden trees, watching the approach of the strange and unknown group.  
  
"We've had no news of them," Haldir whispered. "Or any knowledge of them."  
  
Rúmil now returned to their side and speculated: "Those Orcs were here to prey on them."  
  
Haldir shook his head lightly. "They could have attacked the lady and her company long before they came into our sight; instead, they came here, and attacked us, drawing our attention away. It does not seem right; it does not feel right."  
  
Puzzled, they fell silent. It was Orophin who first sensed the deep sadness of the elleth rider. And the words came to his lips from the very depth of his instincts, of the knowledge the Valar had given their First Born: "She's going to the Halls of Mandos. Her soul rides far ahead of her."  
  
He felt chilled, as if a cold veil of sadness shrouded him. The other elves seemed to have turned away at the disturbance, although they still faced the far horizon.  
  
"No," Haldir mused. "No, she's not going there. But, I am fearful of her purpose."  
  
"What kind of elves are they?" Orophin asked. He did not sense them as kin. "They are dark, as if from Rivendell. But, they do not hail from there, do they?"  
  
"They are like I have never seen," the March Warden answered. "We wait."  
  
"They are dangerous," Orophin countered.  
  
"Yes, they are." Haldir smiled. "So are we, brother." He motioned to the party of strange elves swiftly closing in. "We shall guard her path until she reaches us. Orophin, go to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and ask them what they see; and what they command."  
  
Orophin bent his head, his hand on his heart in obedience to the command of the March Warden, and turned to leave; but first he looked back one more time at the elleth and her escort. Below the crag of the forest the bodies of the Orcs and Uruk-hais were burning, the smoke rising black and polluting. The mortals had receded in the forest.  
  
Although he was moving away into the forest, Orophin's senses became still. He could hear a distant whisper; a song. Nay, a rush of waters. Nay, not that. He knew what it was, yet he could not name it.  
  
"The sound of the sea," a voice from the depth of an elf's soul whispered.  
  
And he felt the danger; the distant, insistent call that seemed to grapple at him.  
  
***  
  
Galadriel sat on the carved chair under the silver cloth canopy of the war tent and raised her eyes to the tall, slender elf warrior in front of her. She stood up to receive Orophin, as was the custom of all elves, her full height made even more slender by the warrior's attire of intricately interlaced mithril, white silk and silver mantle. She bowed her head in greeting. Orophin's presence always made her smile-he had the look of his haughty warrior brother, Haldir, but it was like a reflection in a mirror. While the March Warden was tall and broad for an elf, Orophin was slender and lithe; all three brothers had hair like gold, but Orophin's was like spun sunlight. Haldir was silent and cunning. Orophin was always ready to break into a smile and a song. But, now, as he stood in front of his lord and lady, he suddenly seemed like his brother, frowning slightly, his lips tight.  
  
It was Lord Celeborn, standing at a table with maps, who addressed Orophin: "You bring us tidings of strangers at our borders." Lord Celeborn's dark blue eyes looked past Orophin. He was also attired in warrior's garb, the plates of mithril armor enameled with blue elven design crossing his chest.  
  
"The March Warden sent me to ask what my lord and lady see."  
  
A sad smile playing on Celeborn's face. "Wait for the elleth at the border, let Haldir greet her and escort her to us."  
  
"She's on her way to Elrond of Rivendell," Galadriel spoke. She turned her gaze to Orophin. "Go, Orophin back and give Haldir our orders. Then return here."  
  
Orophin asked no further questions. He ran out of the tent, past the elven guards and down the slopes to carry Lord Celeborn's and the Lady of Light's command.  
  
***  
  
Amirne knew that the March Warden of Lothlórien and his company of warriors were waiting for her. She knew that they would bar her way to Elrond. Her soul and her spirit were riding swiftly ahead of her, driving on, a maddened spirit, bent on its purpose. Her intelligence, the wisdom of the First Born, knew that Elrond had already sensed her spirit and waited in that hall of marble she knew so well, standing at the edge of the terrace, looking over the mists of the land. Protect yourself! She wanted to cry to him, but her spirit concealed her cry; and it rode on, relentless. Her spirit and soul remembered; her spirit and soul yearned and wept for his love, unconsoled, unbridled, now bent on claiming its own. Who could stop it? What sacrifice could she make to have her soul forget Elrond and turn away?  
  
Amirne cried softly as the horse took her closer to the Golden Wood, her guardians behind her. And now she saw them, the Galadhrim; three of them, all golden in the sun, visible to her eye in their gray cloaks, their hair of sunlight, their eyes of sapphire, their bows at ready.  
  
The horse slowed down and the elven escort formed a line behind her, their swords drawn, their senses offended by the burning Orc.  
  
"Mae govannen, stranger from afar," the taller and more massive of the Lórien warriors greeted her as the horse and her escort came to a halt. He bowed slightly, while the haughty, suspicious light in his eyes never left. "I am Haldir, the March Warden of Lórien."  
  
She inclined her head but remained silent. She should have kept her eye on the March Warden, a most impressive elf and warrior, his fame far and wide. But, instead, her eyes were drawn by the warrior to his right, tall and lean, looking at her with his dark eyebrows slightly frowning, his eyes a pale sapphire; the color of the sea. The blue gaze was on her, scanning, probing, questioning. Yet, it was not cold like the March Warden's gaze.  
  
"These are my brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, my lady."  
  
Orophin, Amirne repeated in her mind, the name echoing. She nodded.  
  
Her soul stirred, angered, slowing down its relentless ride.  
  
***  
  
Elrond stood facing the sunlight falling on his terrace, the leaves stirring at his feet, and did not turn when he heard the soft steps behind him. The fragrance of lime and lavender filled the air as Celebrían came in. He smiled, pretending that he had not heard her, but his heart filled with the warmth only she could bring. Her fingers touched his hair and she played with it softly, as she always liked to, braiding it in the Lórien fashion.  
  
"You know I am here," she whispered in his ear, her warm, fragrant breath on his neck. Her hands slipped over his shoulders and around him, the fingers linked over his chest. "Tell me how much you love me."  
  
How much he loved her, he chuckled. How much? He felt her in his very being, her soft and tender beauty flesh of his flesh, a bond of soul and body, three children the fruit of that love. He was half mortal, of a mortal father, and he had the fast flaming passion of the mortals; but which lasted eternally in his elven soul.  
  
He took her in his arms, tenderly yet with urgency, her hands opening his robes and drawing them off him, her own gossamer gown hardly a barrier for his growing desire. The warm embrace and the cradle of her love drew him in, burning his heart and core with the fire of pleasure inside her--  
  
Elrond swung around, his heart beating. The marble hall behind him was empty, and silent. He could hear the hammer of his heart. His body burnt with unspent desire, suddenly the love he had made an illusion; a far memory of what was gone. The waking dream he had had so many time since Celebrían had left him. He took in a deep breath and sank his face in his hands.  
  
He raised his gaze and looked around. Yet, this time, something was different. The scent of lime and lavender was still in the air.  
  
"Celebrían!" he cried out and sank down to his knees.  
  
"Yes, my love," the answered fluttered in the wind.  
  
Elrond felt faint, the strength of his body drawn from him. He fell in a deep and far sleep. Celebrían made love to him again.  
  
***  
  
Lord Celeborn and his lady Galadriel received the silent guest at the entrance of their blue and silver tent, welcoming her with equally silent greetings. The dark-haired elves of her escort bowed but not with their hand on the heart, as would have been the custom of all elves. Haldir took his place on the right hand of the Celeborn, his place as March Warden of Lórien. Orophin moved to the left, his eyes on the tall elleth, his inner senses hearing the distant song of waves; she seemed of silver, cold and shimmering; nay, it was the priceless mithril.  
  
At long last, it was Lord Celeborn who spoke. "Mae govannen, traveler from afar."  
  
Orophin listened to his lord's voice and caught a distressed note in it, as if something very sad had stabbed him.  
  
The tall elleth removed her veil and Orophin caught his breath. She was like alabaster, her skin like the unfathomable glow of a glacier. Her eyes were blue like the depth of a forest at dusk. Her nose was long and straight, the lips curved in a sad, yet determined line.  
  
Orophin let out his breath, and was not sure what he felt. He had never known such an emotion, such a converging of conflicting desires-there was the desire to flee from her and never turn his gaze on her; and there was the desire to take her in his arms and to feel her body and soul, and to take her with violent passion. His heart was beating, his flesh passing between ice and fire. He knew that his face was burning.  
  
The silver elleth's gaze rose to the Lady of Light then it shifted on Orophin. He felt it like the thin blade of a knife; he felt it in the stirring of his flesh, a sensual stirring at the touch of the blade.  
  
"You will oppose me, Galadhrim warrior," she said, her eyes returned to Orophin.  
  
Orophin bowed slightly and said, softly: "The lady of silver sees far beyond what I know."  
  
"You are a poet and a singer," the elleth said, her silver eyes on him. "You have a gentle soul, although your sword and bow are fierce and deadly. You are equal with my guardians in sword and arrow; but they have no gentle soul of a poet."  
  
Startled Orophin glanced at Galadriel. "Be silent," he heard her whisper softly in his ear.  
  
"Where are you traveling?" Lord Celeborn asked, his voice strangely cold; yet, there was still a note of sadness in it. Galadriel turned her head to look at him, and Orophin knew that an understanding had passed between them.  
  
"I am drawn to Rivendell," the elleth of mithril answered. There was stubbornness in her voice. "My name is Amirne."  
  
"Rest a while, Amirne," Galadriel said, and Orophin did not know whether he had heard the voice with his ears, or it had spoken in his mind. "You are most welcome in Lórien."  
  
"But your guardians cannot pass," Haldir spoke suddenly and stepped forward.  
  
Amirne looked at the tall, powerful elf with a long, cold gaze. "Do not fear, March Warden of the Galadhrim. Neither I nor mine will tarry here. I must reach Rivendell, and speak with Lord Elrond of Imladris."  
  
Her escort seemed to move closer, and there was a threat in their mien.  
  
"We will not hold you, Amirne," Celeborn said suddenly, his voice calm. Galadriel glanced at him. "But," he continued, "night is falling. Stay the night in these peaceful woods as our guests, and then when the sun rises, may your ride be swift."  
  
Amirne seemed to sway a little, like a shifting shadow.  
  
"I am grateful to you, my lord."  
  
Lord Celeborn nodded in Haldir's direction. Haldir bowed his head in understanding.  
  
***  
  
The March Warden and Orophin sat in chairs around a low table in Lord Celeborn's tent. Orophin felt burdened, strangely disoriented. Haldir also seemed disturbed.  
  
"What do you think, Haldir, of this lady?" Celeborn asked, coming over with a drink of honey wine mulled with rosemary and wood berries for the two warriors and sat down across from them. He lifted his own glass in a small toast and sipped the golden liquid, his dark eyes on both of them. Unlike the two warriors, he was no longer in his battle attire, but in his silver robe, gathered at the middle with a silver belt. Galadriel sat apart, now in a white dress of silver and pearls, her eyes lost in the far images of distant thoughts.  
  
Orophin heard his brother's breath sharpen. "Evil has entered here," Haldir said.  
  
Lord Celeborn's chest rose in a deep, suppressed sigh. "Great evil."  
  
Orophin looked up from his drink in surprise and could not see where the evil was.  
  
"Do you know how Orcs came to be?" Galadriel asked.  
  
At the sound of those names, Orophin was filled with that loathing all elves felt at the sight and thought of those monsters of creation; monsters created of monsters, from a monstrous mind.  
  
"No, Orophin," Lord Celeborn spoke to his thoughts. "The first Orcs of Sauron were not created from monsters, but were transformed by hideous evil. The first Orcs were his prized possession. They were once elves."  
  
Orophin felt nauseated and a glob of bile lodged itself in his throat. He felt Haldir start.  
  
"It cannot be," Orophin let out, his voice as if spitting. "An elf with the soul of the Valar could not submit, or even survive."  
  
"Sauron was once one of Valar's first born."  
  
Haldir stirred in his chair. "No one has ever spoken of this."  
  
"We do not speak of it, March Warden; but today we must. Millennia ago Sauron, when he had a fair form and moved among us freely, and deceived us with his beautiful form and cunning evil, took elves with him, some of them the finest and fairest elves. They were promised power and the light of the silmarilli as their possession. The committed the sin of envy and pride. But they were deceived. Sauron took them, imprisoned them and tormented them until the soul the Valar had breathed into them left their body and went abroad in despair, forever driven to do Sauron's bidding. Their material existence changed, without a soul, their shape turned evil as well. But, they were once what we were. Now, they are just crazed, tormented instruments of evil. None are seen anymore; they stand guard close to Sauron; they are his material form until he takes one again."  
  
It was Orophin who spoke: "Why do you tell us this now?"  
  
"It is knowledge that you must have, so that you will understand," Lord Celeborn said.  
  
Galadriel shifted her gaze on Orophin. "There is a shadow drifting over Middle Earth. It is coming from Mordor. Amirne is the first messenger to warn us of it."  
  
Orophin started. "No, my lady-"  
  
Galadriel raised her hand to stop him. "Listen, Orophin. One day, the fate of Middle Earth and of mortals shall rest on the shoulders of your brother, Haldir. But, now, it rests on you. Lord Elrond of Rivendell is in great danger. Since our daughter Celebrían left for Valinor, he has much desired to follow her. The mortal side in him is strong, and with it he has the mental strength and the survival instinct of a mortal. He has not succumbed to it. But he is in danger of doing so. He must not go, because his purpose is not yet fulfilled in Middle Earth. It is centuries from now, but Sauron knows, and he has planned this a long time ago. His plan started with the capture of Celebrían and her torment. It was not by chance that she was captured; it was the beginning of Sauron's plan to destroy Lord Elrond. Orophin, you will save him; he must be saved for the future, when Sauron will come to claim his Ring of power."  
  
Orophin listened, his heart heavy. He had no special powers; he was not even the strongest of warriors.  
  
"You have the heart to do it, Orophin," Galadriel read his thoughts. "It is not a warrior's heart we need; but one that can sing kind and loving words."  
  
"Haldir," Lord Celeborn spoke, "you will escort Amirne to Rivendell. You will not be harmed because they want to reach Rivendell. Do not challenge them, do not interfere. But when you get to Rivendell, stay at Lord Elrond's side."  
  
Haldir bowed with his hand on his heart.  
  
"Orophin," Galadriel turned to the younger brother, "your task is more dangerous. Go ahead of Amirne and her escort to Rivendell."  
  
Celeborn took a paper from inside his robe. "Give Lord Elrond this. Guard it with your life; do not let Amirne, or her warriors, or any creature on the way see it; or read it in your mind."  
  
Galadriel looked long at Orophin. "We ask of you a great thing. We ask that you deflect Amirne's purpose. Her purpose is Lord Elrond. We ask that you take her heart and that you rescue Lord Elrond. It may cost you your elven soul."  
  
Orophin let out a silent gasp. He glanced at Haldir for help; but the March Warden was staring at Galadriel, and also seemed startled by the request.  
  
"My Lady," Haldir stepped forward. "My Lord Celeborn. I offer myself for this."  
  
"No, Haldir!" Celeborn raised his hand to stay him. "No. Not this time. Your time has not come."  
  
Orophin did what he had never done before in his long life-protest an order. "My Lady, I am not clever in the ways of the heart; I know not how to find such twisted paths. And," he paused for a breath, "Lord Elrond is wise and fierce in battle, the understanding of long millennia makes him one of the most powerful and wisest elves in Middle Earth." His voice broke a little.  
  
"You will have the knowledge, and the power," Galadriel answered. "Listen to the song in your mind and heart. You hear it already." She removed from the sleeve of her dress a blue, etched glass vial. She turned it in the light and a silver star sparked in it. "Take this, Orophin, and keep it hidden and safe. You will know when to use it, at the darkest moment."  
  
Orophin took the glass and as he touched it, the light in it faded. But, when he put it in his pocket, he felt its strength, its soothing power.  
  
Orophin straightened up and so did Haldir next to him.  
  
"You will understand in a while," Galadriel spoke to Orophin.  
  
Celeborn took in a breath. "Be kind to her, Orophin. She has suffered much and she does not understand."  
  
Haldir spoke: "You do know her, my lord?"  
  
"Yes, Haldir. We know her well, and our heart is broken for her. Lord Elrond of Imladris knows her as well. Be at his side."  
  
***  
  
Lord Elrond read the letter Orophin had given him and he reeled inside. He leaned on the parapet with one hand and with the other he crumpled the paper. The Lórien warrior stood in front of him, looking at him. He had the Lórien colors Celebrían had had.  
  
He shook the thought away. His heart was small in his chest, just a point of ice. Yet.  
  
"I have seen Amirne from afar," he said to Orophin. "They are almost at our gates. They ride swiftly. Like the thought." he added, darkly. "I am tired, Orophin. Very tired."  
  
Orophin bowed his head at Elrond's confession, humbled that the mighty elf would reveal something of himself to Orophin.  
  
The silvery tones of the bell announced the descending evening over Rivendell and the lanterns were lit, one by one. The evening song rose over the city and mingled with the rustle of trees and the whisper of the waterfalls. When the bell rang its last, the gates opened and, led by the March Warden of Lórien, the silver rider and her escort came into Rivendell, the procession winding its way over bridges and terraces toward Elrond's palace. Elves came out on the balconies, holding lanterns to light the way and welcome the strange elves led by the familiar figure of the March Warden.  
  
Elrond waited for them, standing on the Council terrace, the evening lit by a hundred lanterns hanging from the arches. Behind him stood Orophin.  
  
Haldir came in and bowed with his hand on his heart, turned aside and let pass Amirne, now dressed in long robes of black and silver, her face white like the moon rising overhead. Her blond hair parted to fall down her back and breast to her feet, and glowed like the mithril crown that circled her brow.  
  
At the sight of her, Elrond lost his breath and a wave of tears came into his eyes. If such a thing were possible, his heart would have stopped beating. He leaned slightly on the stone table in the middle of the terrace. But, he found the strength and calm to bow to the lady.  
  
"Mae govannen, my lady Amirne," he said.  
  
But the elleth he had called by name looked at him with eyes that did not see. She gazed through him, as if she had not understood the greeting. He heard the metallic tinkling of Haldir's sword and felt Orophin come closer. Then, suddenly she took a step forward and put both her hands on Elrond's shoulders. He felt their ice through the silk of his robes.  
  
"Lord Elrond," she said softly. She leaned forward, and whispered, "My beloved." Oblivious of who was around, she slowly tilted her head and her lips touched Elrond's, at first quietly, then more forcefully, then she bit them softly, teasingly.  
  
Elrond stepped back and took her hands in his. They were cold. Her lips had been cold; but they tasted of vanilla; as he remembered them.  
  
She smiled at him; a cold, fey smile, then she walked out, the warrior elves remaining on the terrace, having retreated into the shadows. A moth with velvety silver and purple wings fluttered by. Elrond followed it with his eyes.  
  
***  
  
Elrond came quietly into the guest room that faced the valley and waterfalls. The moon shimmered over the crests and threw long silver rays through the terrace and window, shrouding the seated elleth in a veil of light. Slowly, he walked up to her and looked into her face. But she only looked past him into the pale night, her eyes silver and sightless. She wore a gossamer robe, cascading in pleats from her shoulders, embroidered with shimmering seed pearls. Underneath, her body glowed like blue alabaster in the moonlight.  
  
Elrond knelt in front of her and put his head in her lap, her fragrance intoxicating him, stealing his senses. He closed his eyes and let the feel of her enshroud him. And then her hand touched his hair and she slowly took a few strands and she started to braid them. She bent over him and whispered into his ear, "Love me again, like you did so long ago. My skin has been frozen since then."  
  
He circled her middle with his arms and kissed her, his lips touching a hundred times the shivering, cold skin. She gasped softly and her hands grappled his hair, the midnight black tresses between her white fingers. Her breasts were like two globes of moonlight in his embrace, a slow fire rising in them.  
  
Elrond rose and lifted her in his arms, her head resting on his chest, the silver hair cascading to the ground, trailing on the marble flagstones. Gently, he put her on the bed and the robe fell off her, like an opening cocoon, to reveal the splendor within; and within that splendor was the fire of a long lost passion.  
  
She embraced him in that splendor of flesh and fragrance and drew him into her, surrounding him, absorbing him, taking him into her core.  
  
Elrond gasped, a terrible fear stabbing his heart, as she turned to frost around him, clenching him in a vice of ice. Her eyes stared at her with an evil shimmer, a mocking smile on her face. He let out a yell and pulled back, brutally tearing himself from her and crumpled to the ground, his tears pouring down his face.  
  
"Please." he heard her whisper. "Only you can bring me back. Please, come to me again. Don't fear me."  
  
Slowly, Elrond rose, and drawn by her voice he returned. He felt again warmth under her skin and again she surrounded him in that veil of ice; but now the fear was pleasure, the pain was a quiver of deep gratification, a mesmerizing passion that devoured the mind.  
  
He didn't know how he got there. She led the path in her gossamer robes and he followed, his own robe of thin dark velvet on his shoulders. They were walking on the half moon bridge spanning the river, passing under the veil of the waterfall. Behind them, at a distance, just shadows against the soft mist of the moon, came the dark elven guardians.  
  
He followed her shimmering form, and felt strangely tortured and tormented by a desire he had not been able to fulfill, a love that had not climaxed; he followed the promise of her form. His body felt heavy and his flesh burned. He knew that what he saw in front of him, his gaze far beyond the horizon, was not Rivendell, but a cracked and broken land, the mountains tumbled unto themselves; a land of doom. Above it, atop a tall peak of crackling fire and hissing yellow gases, a singular eye stared out, meeting his gaze, absorbing his being. In his head he heard voices, shouting over each other, speaking a harsh and brutal language, vibrating within a deep feeling of nausea. The language of Mordor.  
  
Elrond shuddered and fell, his body too heavy to carry, the miasma of Mordor overwhelming. The guardians lifted his body between them and carried him forth, Amirne ahead of them, already beyond the gates of Rivendell. Softly, noiselessly, they crossed the Arundel.  
  
***  
  
Orophin sat just inside the room, the terrace of carved stone stretching in front of him. On a low table he had placed the glass vial Galadriel had given him and the light of the moon shimmered into it. He played softly the lute, composing a song, a tone poem to describe the elleth of silver. The dulcimer notes seemed to climb up on moonbeams, and in his heart and mind Orophin was hearing the distant song he played on the sweet strings. Behind him, on the cot, slept Rúmil, softly hissing through his nose. Haldir stood like a sentinel on the terrace, only a form against the veils of the waterfalls gleaming in the moonlight. Suddenly, Rúmil's hissing snore intruded and Orophin interrupted his strumming and threw a cushion as his sleeping brother.  
  
"You stupid Orc," Rúmil mumbled, turned with his face to the wall and the hissing stopped.  
  
Orophin turned back to his lute, but now there was another song in his mind; it whispered and it sighed; like the sea. He touched the strings of his lute and the melody followed that in his mind. Haldir turned slowly in his direction and suddenly, Orophin saw a blue glint in his eye. Galadriel's glass glowed blue; not brightly, but with a low, dull blue glow. Distant voices suddenly rose, speaking over each other, a strange and frightening language. Orophin looked up at his brother. The March Warden had come inside, and his face was now lit by the glow of the blue glass. He was also listening to something, his head tilted, his senses focused on a distant murmur.  
  
"Do you hear it?" he asked Orophin.  
  
Orophin's lute fell silent. "I have been hearing it for quite a while," he whispered his answer.  
  
"What is it?" Haldir asked.  
  
From nowhere, as if someone else had spoken it, Orophin said, "It's the foul sound of Mordor." He looked at the blue glass. There was a liquid in there, now bubbling. "Lord Elrond is in grave danger-"  
  
He could not move. His limbs were heavy. And then he heard the other voice: "Save me! Save Elrond."  
  
Haldir was at his side, shaking his shoulder. "On your feet, Orophin!" he commanded. "Get up!"  
  
The bow and sword were thrust in his hand. "It's time," he whispered as if there were ears to hear them. Rúmil was already on his feet, dressed for battle, his lips set resolutely, his eyes scanning the night outside. He was now the dangerous elf, the warrior companion to his brothers into which impending battle transformed him.  
  
"Lord Elrond and his guests are gone," Haldir whispered.  
  
Orophin took in a deep breath. "I heard the voices and the sound of the sea."  
  
"As Galadriel and Celeborn warned, Lord Elrond and the lady Amirne are in grave danger. We did not hear or sense them leave. They may be beyond our help. We may have failed already." Haldir's voice was cold, hiding great fear for the ones they have been sent to protect and rescue.  
  
Orophin sank Galadriel's vial into the pouch he wore at his middle, and armed himself with the sword, knives and bow of the Galadhrim. At a second thought, he took the lute with him. Rúmil, who always laughed at his lute, this time looked grimly at him. He understood. Haldir nodded, and the three brothers silently ran out of Elrond's palace, taking the high paths of the bridges and waterfalls until they reached the crest of Imladris. They stopped and looked over the wide plain opening ahead of them, sunk in deep darkness. The moon was obscured by dark mists, and suddenly the veil of moonbeams was black. It was no ordinary darkness, Orophin realized. The three warrior elves bowed their heads and sent a silent call to the Valar for their aid. Then, they started running, swiftly, like silent shadows across the land, their feet barely touching the ground, in the direction of the distant and yet unseen horizons of Mordor. Orophin knew that when they reached that accursed land he would have to remember and find within his soul the song of the Valar that had created the First Born; the blessed song that had put the soul of the elves in their material body. He would run with his brothers for more nights and days, tracking the strange guardians of the elleth of silver that brought the rear of the fleeing elleth and her captive, but he would not find that song in his soul.  
  
***  
  
Elrond rested in the embrace of the elleth who called herself Amirne, and his flesh felt warm and satiated as it had never been since last he had seen her centuries before. In the long run away from Rivendell he could not remember seeing daylight. Even now, after the long lovemaking that should have brought the dawn, it was dark instead. They lay on the soft bed of moss and leaves under the veiled moonlight, strange songs of night birds whispering about them. Far away, at the edges of that woodland, the guardian elves stood sentinel on their horses; he had never seen them dismount, or rest, or sleep, or eat.  
  
But all this did not trouble Elrond, for he was under a spell, and although he knew it with his reason, his body and spirit were too enthralled, and his heart too glad of his dreams of Celebrían that now were being fulfilled and confused in his passion for the silver elleth, for him to fight it, or even want it to dissipate in the cold light of his mind.  
  
He turned lazily in Amirne's embrace. She was not asleep; she never was, her eyes always staring into the distance. He kissed her lips that tasted of the familiar vanilla and her gaze turned on him, that distant ice in them. He wondered over and over if that evil light he had seen had not been a treacherous thought of his mind. But even that question did not hold him long in her embrace, as his skin touched hers, as she twined herself around him, absorbing him within her with a power and ardor that satiated him for a long moment, the desire to rise again a short time later, even hungrier and more demanding; waves of unspeakable pleasure and pain, all mingled in one long, unending spasm of love. And now, again, spent for a while, he lay in her lap, his hair wet with the labor of his love, his breath even again, shivering with lingering pleasure. It seemed that the lovemaking had been the longest yet and this time Amirne seemed to feel the torpor as well. He raised his head and looked. The guardians sat on their horses, their heads bent, as if asleep. Elrond slowly closed his eyes and he as well drifted in the all seeing sleep of the elves. Except this time his sleep was like that of a mortal-dark, without dreams.  
  
***  
  
Orophin stood alongside Haldir and Rúmil, their gaze probing the darkness below.  
  
"They've stopped for a long time," Rúmil remarked. "Otherwise, we would never have been able to catch up, swift as they were."  
  
Orophin felt uneasy and Haldir voiced his unease: "I think they meant for us to catch up."  
  
"A trap," Orophin echoed.  
  
Haldir shook his head. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I think one of them has delayed so you can come."  
  
"Either to trap me, or to give me a chance to fulfill Galadriel's command."  
  
Haldir was silent for a breath. "Perhaps both, a will divided."  
  
Orophin sat on the ground and pondered, listening to the sounds of the earth and night, to the far whispers, to his own mind. He had tried the whole journey to hear that song in his heart, the one that the Valar had put there when elves were created. But there was no song he could hear. As if to mock, all that he could hear was one of Rúmil's songs he played to his sweetheart of the moment.  
  
"I will go down," he said quietly. "I will take the path from behind the woods and come that way." He motioned to the other side from where the guardians sat on their horses, asleep.  
  
"Can you see Lord Elrond?" Rúmil asked.  
  
"I can feel him," Orophin said. Strange that was, but even stranger, his hearing had sharpened so that he could hear Elrond's breath; and another, softer but more agitated; that of Amirne, the elleth of mithril. Their breaths mingled, blended, of two bound beings.  
  
He looked at Galadriel's glass. It was dark, with no blue glow in it, not even the palest shimmer. He stood up and slung the lute on his back along with his bow and quiver. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Swiftly, noiselessly, he negotiated the slope down and the path around the woods. On the far side, he cut across and through a brook that whispered just beyond where he could sense the presence of the elves. He did not approach, but instead sat down on the ground and waited; although he did not know for what. He listened. There was a whisper of the sea in his heart; and something of a distant song murmured, barely audible, the tune and words disappearing as soon as they appeared, not quite forming, not quite rising. The song of the Valar. Orophin closed his eyes.  
  
A glow formed behind his eyelids. A warmth that was not that of the night touched him. He opened his eyes. Amirne stood a few paces away from him, tall and delicate like a dream, shrouded in her gossamer robes, the pearls shimmering a deep blue, her skin like the nacre of precious shells.  
  
"You've come," she whispered, and her face lit in a smile. "You will sing to me, Orophin?"  
  
He was silent.  
  
"I heard that you are the singer of the Galadhrim and that you put your emotions in song, and not in words. Will you sing to me of your emotions for me?"  
  
"Sing of my love for you," he whispered, the words as if not his. Yet, the sentiment was his, deep, burning, painful; yes, wonderful.  
  
Softly, hauntingly, he started to sing, his voice barely heard over the whispers of the night. Amirne came closer and spread out her arms towards him. "Come." he heard her, yet she had not spoken. He rose and came to her, standing in front of her, a bit taller than she. The gossamer veils suddenly circled him and her hands played in his silver hair. "In the daylight," she whispered in his ear, "your hair must be like spun sunlight." She drew out his hair and let it fall like soft veils. Then, softly she bit his ear and her warm breath tickled him. He shivered and a quiver went through him, so deep and so delicious that he lost his breath.  
  
"Sing, Orophin," she whispered. "Sing."  
  
He sang into her ear and into her glowing bosom, he sang into the most secret and sweet places of her being. She raised herself to him, to meet and welcome him into the core of pleasure she had made for him.  
  
A loud shout exploded behind him and a hand grabbed his hair, pulled and spun him around, his flesh quivering with sudden frustration, brutally torn from its point of satiation. Amirne screamed as if flesh had been ripped from her body. Orophin found himself staring into Elrond's wrath. The elven lord's face was pale and pinched with fury, his eyes wide and flashing, his hair unbraided and flying about his head. He was half naked, the robe whirling about him. His hand was on Orophin's neck, squeezing. "You want to take her away!" he hissed into his face like a maddened snake.  
  
It was a mortal's jealousy, Orophin thought on another level. Mortal jealousy mixed with elven outrage. Yet, it was not Elrond. It was not his voice.  
  
Orophin spun in Elrond's grip and escaped it. Elrond grasped him again and their bodies twisted around, seeking the other's life. Orophin was naked except for his tunic, his weapons tossed aside.  
  
Out of the dark shadows appeared a black horse and its hooves crashed on the lute, crushing it. Laughter rose, satisfied.  
  
"Galadriel's glass, you fools!" a guttural voice vibrated in the air. "The glass!" It was the voice from Mordor.  
  
Orophin understood. It was the song and the light. He struggled in Elrond's grip, rolled on the ground, pulling Elrond with him, his skin sweaty and cold. A horse rose above them, the hooves over their head and came down, crashing on Elrond. The master of Imladris let out a loud shout. Amirne screamed again, long and keening.  
  
Perhaps that scream startled the guardians and whoever guided them, because for a moment there was silence. In that silence he heard Haldir and Rúmil running through the woods; and in that moment of stillness he felt the glass under his fingers. He clasped it as the horse loomed higher again, the hooves over his head, the horse's red eye gleaming. It came down on him, falling on his chest, his ribs snapping. But, he raised his arm with the glass, and suddenly a light burst out of it, blue and blinding, filling the world with an azure light, shadowless and penetrating, making everything transparent. And he saw the guardians; they were not elves anymore, but vile creatures. Although still beautiful in shape, Orophin saw the decay and saw the glowing yellow iris in the slit of their eyes. And suddenly, the song of the Valar came to him. Breathless, his lung punctured by the shattered ribs, he sang it suddenly, just as the hordes of Orcs descended on him. Amirne and Elrond, and Haldir and Rúmil were fighting desperately for life.  
  
Everything became still as the song rose higher. Orophin now stood, and no one knew what force kept him standing so tall and magnificent, his blond hair fluttering like spun gold in the dark, and he sang the song of his elven spirit; the song of the Valar. And when it ended, the guardians had dissipated and the dawn had started to rise with pearl lights at the horizon. The glass in his hand now glowed with the Silmarilli gemstones of the Valar, the light captured in the blue liquid. Amirne knelt at his feet, her silver head bent, her face quiet and beautiful.  
  
And then he saw it coming, up the river he had not seen before-the ship from Valinor, from the Grey Havens, the sails of the color of the sea, the ship gleaming with gold, the figurehead cutting the mists and light of the rising sun. On deck he saw the sea elves, their robes of the color of the deep fluttering about them. His song stopped and he felt the touch of Mandos in his heart. Haldir and Rúmil held him up. Elrond was crumpled on the ground, blood seeping out of his mouth.  
  
The Lord Sea Elf stepped forward and bowed deeply to Orophin. Then he put out his hand and took the blue glass. It sparked in his hand. He touched Elrond and the elven lord of Imladris opened his eyes. Another Sea Elf came forth and he held draped on his arms the armor Elrond had worn on the day Isildur had cut the ring off Sauron's hand.  
  
"Life of the elves is still in you, Lord Elrond," the Sea Elf said and handed him the armor. "This will give you strength and healing. We bring word from the Valar-you must wear this armor one more time in your battle against Sauron."  
  
He turned to the elleth of silver who now looked wan, and almost translucent in the rising sun. He put the glass in front of her and her eyes were lifted to it. "Be at peace now," the Sea Elf said, and helped her to her feet. "Your spirit has been recaptured by the Valar. It is now like the light of the Silmarilli. Come, our beloved Celebrían. Come home."  
  
Elrond cried out a wordless call of mortal grief and despair.  
  
"No, Lord Elrond," the Sea Elf stopped him. "You have much to do."  
  
They took Celebrían to the ship and it sailed away, her form visible for a long time at the prow. The Sea Elf held the glass of light high above. Far at the horizon, as the ship was no more than a shimmering point, the blue light sparked, lighting the sky, then it disappeared.  
  
Orophin and Elrond remained on the shore for a long while, soft dusk returned to earth. Orophin mourned like an elf, without tears and without sighs. Only his song rose in a soft lament for the one he had known as Amirne. Elrond mourned as a mortal, his face in his hands, tears streaming down his face for the one he had recognized as Celebrían and whom he had now lost a second time. But his mortal side did not despair for his elf side knew that one day he would be again with Celebrían in the elysian fields of Valinor.  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
Orophin took the place of honor in the great hall of the Galadhrims, at Lord Elrond's right hand. Haldir sat at Lord Celeborn's right hand, and Rúmil at Galadriel's. The elves of Imladris and Lothlórien sat in a great semicircle, all in shimmering silks of silver and gold, their dark and golden heads gleaming in the sunrays falling through the golden canopy of Lórien. They listened to the story of what had happened and what would come. The wisest of the elves, Elrond told the story.  
  
Celebrían had been captured by the Orcs, and thought to have been tormented by them. But, in reality, she had been taken to Mordor, where Sauron lay only as an evil thought, taking form through the spirits of the elves he captured. He took Celebrían into his accursed tower and there he tormented her until her spirit left her body and he captured that soul to turn it into evil. He returned Celebrían to Elrond, but he knew that Celebrían would leave, her heart broken. She left for the west, but never reached the shores of the sea. She found her way to Mordor, where Sauron already plotted the future; he already knew who would be his greatest foes. He knew that Lord Elrond would be the instrument of his fall. How, he did not know. But, he knew that without Elrond the ring would be his.  
  
He sent Celebrían back, now her material existence the same as the first elves that Sauron had taken captive and turned into Orcs. Her guardians were already his creatures, elves of the elder days, now nothing but silent evil. Her task was to appear to Elrond again and take his love again, and through the witchcraft of Sauron, take him captive back to Mordor, where in the depths of that dark land, he would become a soulless creature of greater evil than any of Sauron's creations. But although of changed countenance, Lord Celeborn and Galadriel had felt her, and although they did not know at the time that she was the reincarnation of their daughter, the lost wife of Elrond, Celebrían, they feared her. They sought the one that had the song of the Valar in his soul, although he may not have known it. It was Orophin, the brother of the March Warden. The song of the Valar, when remembered, would draw Celebrían's spirit back from the darkness of Mordor, and the blue light of the Silmarilli would capture her soul and hold it until it reached Valinor. All this Orophin had bravely accomplished.  
  
Elrond stopped his account. He stood up and held his hand to silence everyone. He seemed to listen to something very far away. Then he said gravely: "Celebrían has reached Valinor. I can feel it."  
  
All the elves bent their head in thanks to the Valar.  
  
Far away, in the broken land of Mordor, a howl of frustration and loathing rose from the bodiless spirit of Sauron.  
  
The two wizards who had just arrived in Middle Earth, messengers of the Valar, heard the howl. Gandalf, the wizard in grey nodded sadly but with a twinkle in his eye. The other, the one in white who called himself Saruman, listened carefully with a cold face. His black eyes shimmered with a strange, rapacious light.  
  
THE END.  
  
~*~  
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